


In Memoriam

by Alpherae



Series: A Kettle Full of Corks [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Torture, Not so much suicidal as obsessed with flying, Unfortunate Implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alpherae/pseuds/Alpherae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All stories have a beginning and an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mogak gra-Barak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She woke in the corpse pit of Xaselm.

Mog remembers everything.

She remembers growing up in Bruma, one of a child-mob charging around in the snow. They bounced in and outside over the course of a day: exploring the Guild Halls until the porters lost patience, sneaking around the palace corridors, getting kicked out of the tavern, and hauled into the Temple for lessons when Healer Cirroc thought it was too cold for them outside. When it grew dark, she returned to her mother's small cottage tucked against the town wall.

She remembers collecting mushrooms and herbs for the Mage's Guild, and the sweet-bitter-sour smell in the air as their Alchemist taught her how to use them. Aunt Bumph was a Protecter in the Fighter's Guild and made sure she could protect herself on their trips outside the walls. Her mother taught her to smith very young, standing on a box beside the anvil as Master Fjotreid looked on. He was a good man, and he offered to take her in when her mother died, but Bruma was not a kind town for orsimer. Instead, she took her aunt's advice and joined her guild.

She remembers travelling. The noise of the market towns, the scent of autumn roads (flowers and grapes), the dampness of the marshes. Most of all, the warm sun of the Gold Coast lingering on her skin. Anvil suited her well, a city of friends and lovers, and she was both to many. It didn't matter to her what others thought as long as those she loved were happy, so she loved well, if not wisely (the nobles were probably a bad idea).

She remembers the prison, the shock and fear. Fearing the disappointment of her guildmates, the exasperation of her friends. Irritation with herself as well, she really should have known better. She doesn't like remembering that time.

She remembers the Emperor, the Emperors. Remembers unjustified trust and (presumably) unrequited love. She wasn't about to act on it anyway, he was a noble too and she did learn from her mistakes.

She remembers Oblivion, remembers fire and ash and choking air. When it was over - when it was _all_ over - she returned to the coast, to a small cottage no bigger than her mother's had been, perched on a hill beside the Abecean Sea. She scoured away the taint in seawater until her hair was stiff and eyes red with nothing more than salt. If she dreamt of fever-hot skin and echoing voices, that was nobody's business but her own.

She remembers her older brother, not that she knew him well. He would appear once, perhaps twice in a year, and give her a smile and a few trinkets for their mother before taking off again. After she left Bruma their paths seldom crossed, but she still cared, and she still followed him when he vanished into an impossible Doorway.

She remembers Passwall, and the Gates and their Keeper, and Xedilian.

She remembers Xaselm, and Relmyna Verenim's experiments.

She remembers pain.

She remembers dying.

She does not trust her memories.

 

 

> _There once was an Orsimeri maiden,_  
>  _With lovers and friends she was laden;_  
>  _But He messed with her head,_  
>  _'Til she thought she was dead;_  
>  _That beautiful Orsimeri maiden._

 


	2. Hahnuviing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She dreams of wings, the Hist said.

Dreams-Of-Wings remembers things that never happened outside of her own head.

In the Marsh, a child born under the sign of the Lady when the moons are dark is said to be Dreamer-born: such belong to Vaermina. There was a storm over the Marsh on the night her egg cracked, thunder resounding like dragon wings, and she never saw the stars that marked her path.

She has walked throughout Dawn's Beauty, from Black Marsh to High Rock, from Sky Rim to Sun's Home, the ground hard beneath her feet, stones rubbing her claws blunt. In her mind's eye, looking back, she sees the route from above. She knows the wind currents over the Shivering Isles better than the paths below.

In the waking world, she has stood on mountain peaks and leapt from cliffs. She has grasped at the clouds in a rickety harness cobbled together from dwemeri contraptions and sail canvas, and fallen from rotting towers. Ilunabi showed her the lost spells of Vvardenfel, taught her how to walk on thin air or thicken it to drift like a falling leaf, but it is not the same.

Thrice, she has been carried into the sky by a dragon, clinging to his neck like a hatchling. It is the closest she has ever come to her dreams, but Strives-To-Control-His-Cruelty is old, stiff and weary, and there is no other she trusts to catch her if her grip fails. If her mind fails.

She remembers flight, remembers the pressure of wind against her scales, the strain of beating muscles, the world spread out below with nothing holding her in the sky but her own strength. Remembers warm sun on her wings, and dancing in the storm. She believes this in her bones, knowing it false. She desires this more than life, she _dreams_  of this. The Hist named her well.

A woman of the Root she may be, but the Madgod dragged her roots from the soil on the night of her hatching, giving her a voice and a soul that belonged in the sky. One day, his gift will drive her over the edge, and he has no mercy for self-destruction.

> _There once was a woman whose night_  
>  _Was spent always dreaming of flight._  
>  _So during the day_  
>  _She tried anyway_  
>  _And learned that she wasn't a kite._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the dragon tongue, the name 'Paarthurnax' can be directly translated as Ambition-Overlord-Cruelty, but the meaning is probably more abstract. Hahnuviing treats it as she would an Argonian name.


	3. Ilunabi Ashamanu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She despises mudcrabs, but at least their theft is visible.

Ilunabi remembers nothing of her childhood. She knows her name because it was written on the release papers at Seyda Neen. Her gifts mark her birth sign, and her features mark her race, but she remembers neither kith nor kin nor clan.

She has forgotten herself at least twice, as far as she knows, and possibly more. Old Cosades dug up the records of her discovery by Imperial legionaries, unconscious and scavenger-torn, near Khartag Point. They named her for the nearest cave and the clan markings on her sash, and gave her to the priests who sent her on to an orphanage in Cyrodiil.

She does not remember, but she knows much untaught. She knows the balance of a spear in her hand, the sound of Dunmeris on her lips, the echo of a drum in her bones. On ash or stone, her feet move fast and light as the music rises, and in the movement she has no need of memory.

> _There was a young lady whose fear_  
>  _Was to turn, and her friends disappear._  
>  _So during the night_  
>  _She held them quite tight_  
>  _To be certain they'd always be there._


End file.
